The home
by the local knicker merchant
Summary: A little glimpse into the life of Carla and Peter in 30-odd years' time. An experiment in micro fiction.
1. Chapter 1: Twin beds

**Twin beds**

Peter silently cursed the day they'd moved into the nursing home. The twin beds were beyond infuriating. The metre and a half that he had to traverse in the dark to get to his wife's bed for a little late-night nookie was painful, even after the hip replacement. But still he persevered.

"_I still wanna be holding your hand when it's wrinkled and covered in age spots."_

He'd kept to his word. Both his and Carla's hands were wrinkled; their entire bodies were showing clear signs of age. And he was still there holding her hand. Every day.

"Ooh," Peter grimaced with the pain as he eased his body under the covers on his wife's bed, snuggling up close to her, pressing his groin into her back in anticipation.

"Love," he whispered into her ear. "Are you awake?"

"Urrgghh," Carla moaned, desperately trying to maintain her grip on dreamland. But the sensation of her husband's energetic thrusting against her arse was too difficult to ignore. "Gerroff Peter," she said as she tried to swat him away.

"Don't be like that, love," he pleaded. "I need you."

"Did you see the doctor?"

"I don't need no doctor to make love to my wife."

"Ha!" she couldn't help but laugh. "You know you need a little help these days, Peter, to keep it up long enough."

"I don't –"

"You do," she hissed. "Now stop bothering me, I'm trying to sleep."

"But…"

"Listen, Peter," Carla said, her voice softening. "If you promise to see the doctor tomorrow, get some pills, then tomorrow night…"

"You mean it?"

"Yes," she gave him her word. "Now give me your hand."

He reached his arm over her body and took her hand gently in his; that wrinkled hand covered in age spots that he had held as they had walked through life together and continued still to walk, albeit a slower, more painful walk, as every day brought them closer to the end.


	2. Chapter 2: False teeth

**False teeth**

Carla and Peter sat in silence, relaxing in their favourite armchairs, perfectly positioned by the big bay window overlooking the garden to catch the afternoon sun. Carla was flicking through her favourite fashion magazine, the latest issue having been delivered only that morning, while Peter was focused on his phone, silently cheering on the horse he'd put his pension money on, that small portion allocated to betting, run at Lingfield Racecourse.

"Mr and Mrs Barlow," a prim, modest looking woman of about forty-five approached the couple.

"Hmm…?" Carla barely glanced up at the home manager, preferring instead to study the latest trends in ankle boots.

"Arrgghh!" Peter exclaimed, tossing his phone onto the small table next to his armchair.

"Did your horse lose, baby?" Carla asked him, the sight of Peter crossing his arms sulkily affirming her suspicions. "Never mind," she patted his arm gently. "There's always another race. Believe you me, I should know after all these years."

"Ah-hem," the home manager cleared her throat.

"Oh, sorry, Angela," Carla finally looked up at the woman. "How can I help?"

"I was going to introduce you to a couple who have just moved in, but…" she looked around, searching for these as yet unknown newcomers. "Oh, there they are. Over here," she called out to the couple, both with pale grey hair, obviously blonde in their youth, the man tall and thin, the woman about Carla's size. "Yoo hoo!"

"You've got to be joking!" Carla cried out in disbelief. "You two are moving in here?"

"Do you know each other?" Angela asked nervously, sensing the tension in the room suddenly skyrocket.

"Just a bit," Leanne Tilsley sneered as she pointed at Peter. "I used to be married to him."

"And I used to be married to her," Nick Tilsley nodded at Carla.

"Why don't I leave you four to catch up," Angela stammered. "I think I…" She didn't bother finishing with her excuses before hurrying away.

"Wha a ew oon ere?" Peter mumbled.

"What?" Nick replied with furrowed brow.

"Ay ed, wha a ew oon ere?" Peter repeated his question, growing more irate by the second.

"Are you havin' a stroke or summat, Peter?" Leanne asked. "You're not making any sense. Not that you ever did."

"His teeth are at the denture clinic for repairs," Carla explained, ignoring Peter's indignant look for revealing this little tidbit of information to his arch nemesis. "He said 'what are you doing here?'"

"Like she said, we're moving in."

"Ay ear?"

Nick and Leanne both glanced at Carla, who interpreted for Peter. "Why here?"

"We could ask you two the same question. Si said you were in that place on the other side of town."

"ell air o!"

"Well, we're not."

"We can see that," Nick rolled his eyes.

"Oo o air, ot ear."

"You go there, not here," Carla said, turning to Peter. "You mean they should move to the other home?"

"Esh!"

"Why should we?" Leanne asked as she plonked herself down in the armchair opposite Carla and made herself comfortable. "This is the best home in town. No, we're staying put."

Nick followed Leanne's lead and sat down, spurred on by Peter's glares, determined to make a cosy foursome for the sole purpose of winding him up.

_Beep beep. Beep beep._

Peter reached for his phone from where he'd tossed it earlier onto the table.

"Isth-sthi."

"Simon."

"What's he saying?"

"E aid–"

"Give it here, Peter," Carla said impatiently with outstretched hand. "Let me read it, yeah?"

Peter dutifully handed the phone to his wife, who read…

"Sorry dad. Tell mum I said hi."


	3. Chapter 3: Water aerobics

**Water aerobics**

"I don't see the point in this," Peter said with an exasperated sigh as he eased his body into the warm chlorinated water of the home's indoor swimming pool.

"You know the doctor said it would be good for your hip, baby," Carla replied, already floating happily in the water. "A bit of low impact exercise, he said."

"But water aerobics?" Peter looked askance at the group of mainly elderly women eagerly awaiting the start of class. "Really?"

"Alright, Carla?" an elderly man in his seventies, with a rotund belly spilling out over his swimming trunks and a few tufts of grey hair on his predominantly bald pate. "Haven't seen you in here before."

"Oh, you know how it is, Fred," Carla winked cheekily at the man. "Gotta keep the old man in shape somehow."

"If you need any pointers," Fred added. "Just give me a nudge, yeah?"

"I'm not doing this if you're just gonna flirt with all the old codgers," Peter hissed at her as Fred floated on by with an appreciative glance back at Carla.

"Old codgers?" Carla asked, amused by Peter's denial. "Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"Thanks very much," Peter said, clearly affronted by Carla's inference.

"Oh, don't be like that," she said as his face grew dark, his brow furrowed. "I was only joking. I happen to think you're a very attractive man," she purred, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "For an old codger."

"Alright then," an extremely enthusiastic voice drew their attention to the side of the pool. "Are we all ready? Do we all have a noodle?"

"Noodle?" Peter shrugged at Carla in confusion. "What's a noodle."

"Here you go, Carla." Fred floated by with two noodles in his hand; he gave one to Carla with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows. "I got you a noodle."

"Thanks Fred," Carla said with a smile, pulling the long pink foam floatation device towards her across the surface of the water.

"That's a noodle?"

"Uh huh."

"What does it do?"

"It helps you float while you do your exercises."

"I don't need a flaming noodle to float," Peter scoffed at the idea. "I'll be fine on me own."

"You can share mine if you want?"

"Oh no," Peter brushed off the offer. "I wouldn't want your boyfriend getting jealous now, would I."

"Start marching it out, yeah! Let's get warmed up." The voice instructed the group as music started playing from speakers built into the ceiling. "How are we all this morning?"

"Oh, hello," Peter said as he gazed up at the woman stood on the edge of the pool amidst a chorus of 'goods' and 'greats' from the group. "You know what, Carla, you can have Fred, I'll have Miss Thing up there."

Carla's gaze followed Peter's to the young nubile woman, their instructor for the day; she couldn't help but smile.

"Oh, Peter," Carla shook her head. "I wouldn't bother, baby. I mean, there's no way you can keep up with her."

"I can!" Peter protested.

"Ha!" Carla scoffed. "I'd like to see you try."

"Okay," Peter accepted the challenge. "You just watch me."

And so Peter marched and kicked and lunged and squatted; he raised his hands in the air and twisted his body around, moving his hips in a slow smooth circular motion. He did everything as instructed, revelling in proving himself to Carla.

"Alright then," the instructor said. "Grab your noodle, lay it across your chest, let it do the work of keeping you afloat, and… kick your feet out behind you. For… eight, seven, six, five…"

"So what now, ey?" Carla asked Peter as he stood in the water, noodle-less.

"I can do it without a stupid noodle."

And, to be fair, he did try. Flailing his arms about underneath the water, his attempt at keeping afloat, Peter lay down on his tummy in the water and began to kick with his feet. He kicked and he kicked and he spluttered as his face hit the water. Coughing as the water entered his mouth and his lungs, momentarily choking him, Peter gave up his attempt and stood upright in the water, glowering at being defeated by a damn noodle.

"Come 'ere," Carla said softly, moving her body along her noodle, leaving enough space for Peter. "Share mine. Come on."

Peter happily obliged. He positioned his body next to Carla's on the noodle and stretched out his legs so they were parallel to hers, and began to kick.

"Thank you," he said, leaning towards her and kissing her cheek. "For sharing your noodle."

"What?" Carla smiled at him, the love as clear and present in her eyes in that moment as much as it had ever been. "You think, after thirty years of marriage, I wouldn't share my noodle with you?"

"We should've had it in our vows."

"To love, honour, and share noodles."

"I love you," Peter whispered hoarsely, kissing her once again, on the lips this time.

"I love you, too," Carla responded with a loving smile. "You old codger."


	4. Chapter 4: The spa

**The spa**

"Aarrgghhh…" Peter moaned softly as he adjusted his aching body, hunting for that ever elusive position that would cause him no pain.

"You okay, baby?" Carla called out to her husband across the dark bedroom.

"Fine," Peter grunted.

"Peter," Carla's voice was soft, full of empathy; she knew how much he still struggled with chronic pain, despite the surgery. "Is it your hip again?"

"Yeh," he said with a heartbreakingly commingled sigh and sob.

Carla quietly swung her legs over the side of the bed, switched on her bedside lamp so that the room was illuminated by a soft and cosy glow, and rose to her feet.

"What are ya –?" Peter asked, watching as she padded to the closet and, grabbing her robe, slipped her arms through it and fastened it snug around her waist, before grabbing Peter's robe and approaching the side of his bed.

"You're coming with me," she said, holding out the robe for him to step into.

"But –"

"No arguments, mister."

Peter had no intention of arguing; he knew his wife and when she was determined to do something, nothing would stand in her way. So he struggled to his feet and gratefully slipped into the robe, standing obediently like a small child while Carla fastened the tie securely around his waist.

"You're probably gonna need this," Carla said as she hoisted his walking frame from the corner of the room and positioned it in front of him.

"Do I have to?" Peter hated that walking frame; using it made him feel so old and useless.

"Well, I ain't carrying you back to bed if you have a fall, so…"

Peter didn't respond, he merely gripped the frame and peered inquisitively at Carla.

"So… Where are we going then?"

"Follow me and find out," she said with a cheeky grin.

And so slowly, excruciatingly slowly, Peter and Carla crept quietly down the hallways of the home, destination as yet unknown to him, but eagerly anticipated by her.

"Carla!" Peter called out to her in frustration as they made a turn into another corridor. "I'm tired, I can't –"

"Shhhhh!" Carla hissed at him. "You're gonna wake someone!"

"Where are we going?"

"Here," Carla said, gesturing towards a set of heavy glass doors.

"The pool?" Peter shrugged, still confused.

"And spa."

"Oh," Peter suddenly realised Carla's end goal. "Nice. Very nice. But…"

"What?"

"It's locked at night."

"Ah, but that doesn't matter," Carla said mysteriously. "If you know the security code."

"How do you –?"

"You know that orderly? The young one?"

Peter shrugged and shook his head.

"You know who I mean," Carla said. "The cute one. He's really tall, works out, beautiful blue eyes…"

"You think he's cute?"

"Yes, I do," Carla stated matter-of-fact. "Nowt wrong with that is there?"

"Well, I dunno," Peter huffed. "Just how cute is he?"

"Cute enough to flirt with, that's all."

"Oh, so you flirt with him as well as perve on him?"

"And one day when we were talking," Carla said, ignoring Peter's crass inference, however true it might be. "I saw him enter the code."

"Nice work, Mrs Barlow."

And so Mrs Barlow entered the code she'd learned from her cute orderly and they both slipped quietly through the doors and into the darkened aquatic facility.

"Oh, damn!"

"What?" Carla asked as she switched on the spa, watching in satisfaction as the jets whirred into life and a soft cloud of steam rose from the warming water.

"We didn't bring our bathers."

"Who needs bathers?" Carla asked, her one eyebrow raised suggestively, as she began to strip off. "Don't worry, Peter, I've seen it all before."

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?" Peter asked in awe as he watched her, fully naked now, step into the spa and sink down into the water.

"Yes," Carla said. "You told me so this afternoon. Now get your kit off and get that tush in here."

What was Peter to do but obey? He flung his robe to the floor, his pyjama set following shortly after, and eased himself into the water opposite Carla.

"Oh," he moaned softly as the hot water and the jet stream began to work their magic.

"Does that feel good?" Carla asked.

"Oh, love," Peter said, exhaling with a long, satisfied sigh. "This is so good."

Carla watched her husband with a smile, happy that she could help ease his pain, even if just for a few moments.

"You know what would make this even better?" Peter asked, staring across at Carla, looking directly into her eyes.

"What?"

"If you came over here and sat on my knee."

So Carla floated the short distance to the other side of the spa and perched on Peter's knee, draping her arms around his shoulders as his arms wrapped around her waist.

Peter gazed up at this woman, this kind, beautiful woman who'd dedicated her life to him, and all thought of the pain that riddled his body disappeared; nothing else mattered, except his sudden overwhelming desire to kiss her.


	5. Chapter 5: Valentine's Day

**Valentine's Day**

"Watch it!" Peter hissed.

"Sorry, old fella," Nick replied with a smirk. "Didn't see you shuffling round there. Wouldn't a thought you'd still be up to this sort of thing, to be honest."

"Don't you worry about me, Nicky boy," Peter shot straight back. "I've still got the moves, don't I, love?" he asked Carla who he was leading around the makeshift dance floor that had been created in the dining hall of the home specially for the annual Valentine's Day dinner-dance.

"I'm keeping right out of this," Carla declared.

"So are we," Leanne added, grabbing hold of Nick's arm and dragging him away from his old adversary. "Come on!"

"Yeah, go on!" Peter scowled after their retreating forms, before focusing his annoyance on his wife. "Thanks for that," he snapped, the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"For what?"

"For backing me up with that ponce."

"No, babe," Carla shook her head. "I ain't encouraging that kind of childish behaviour."

"But he –"

"Shhh..." Carla whispered, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "Whisper something romantic in my ear."

Peter merely stared at her, his eyebrows raised, stubbornly refusing to forgive her for the imagined slight on him and for siding with Tilsley.

"Go on, baby, it's Valentine's Day," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair and nuzzling into his jawline with her lips. "You can't be mad at me on Valentine's Day."

"Hmmpphhh!" Peter snorted defiantly, all the while his defences slowly crumbled as Carla's lips worked their magic, kissing his cheek, his forehead, and his lips, so softly they pressed against them. "I guess not."

Peter wrapped his arms tighter around Carla as they slowly circled around the dancefloor. He leaned into her neck and kissed her softly on her collarbone, before moving up slowly, kissing her neck, her jawline, all the way up to her ear, nibbling on her earlobe gently, and whispering in her ear.

"It's not very romantic though, is it?"

Carla pulled back and glared at him.

"What?"

"This!" Peter swept his head in an exaggerated nod that took in the entire room. "I mean, the tacky decorations, love hearts and roses, the simpering sickening sentimental music that you, admit it, love, you would make fun of it every other day of the year." Not that Peter gave Carla a chance to admit it, he was on a roll with his rant and all Carla could do was smirk her amusement. "But no, today, on this random day, everyone has to be all lovey dovey and romantic and spend a small fortune on flowers and chocolates and fancy dinners. For what?"

"I dunno, babe," Carla shrugged. "You're telling the story."

"I mean, when did we become the sort of couple to celebrate what is, you know it's true, a purely commercial, a consumerist day? I don't need an excuse to be romantic with my wife."

"No, you don't."

"You've got no complaints, do you?"

"Generally, no."

"Generally?" Peter's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean… generally?"

"I mean that right now, Peter, I do have a complaint," Carla declared. "A very serious complaint."

"Hey?" Peter asked, suddenly fearful. "Complaint about what?"

"You talking about, I don't even care what, when you should be kissing me."

"Oh, I see," Peter said, a smile replacing his scowl in an instant. "If it's kissing you want..."

"It is," Carla nodded, her gaze flickering between Peter's eyes and his lips. "Very much so."

"Well then..."

With Carla's arms wrapped firmly around his body, he cupped her face in his hands, his palms pressed gently against her cheeks and his thumbs stroking her soft warm skin. And then he kissed her, his lips pressing against hers, his tongue sweeping across her lips and into her mouth.

"Let's get outta here, yeah?" Peter murmured into Carla's ear. "All this schmaltz is giving me a headache."

"And do what?"

"Go to bed."

"You tired?"

"No."


End file.
